


What You're Worth

by RavenpuffLove



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Astronomy, Co-workers, Drinking & Talking, Hufflepuff/Slytherin Inter-House Relationships, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:41:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24204583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenpuffLove/pseuds/RavenpuffLove
Summary: A simple favor grants a change in perspective.
Relationships: Rolanda Hooch/Horace Slughorn
Comments: 16
Kudos: 14
Collections: Astronomy: 2020 Round Three





	What You're Worth

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [TheSlytherinCabal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSlytherinCabal/pseuds/TheSlytherinCabal) in the [DBQ2020Round3](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/DBQ2020Round3) collection. 



> Disclaimer: The characters do not belong to me but are the property of J.K.R. and Warner Bros. No copyright infringement is intended. The theme for this round of the competition was Astronomy and my chosen pairing was Rolanda Hooch/Horace Slughorn. 
> 
> Thanks so much to granger_danger for dealing with all of my fretting about this submission and for polishing it up so beautifully 🖤

Above the clouds, the night air whipped around Rolanda, rushing by her Bubble-Head charm with a sound as loud as the Hogwarts Express. It had been a long while since she'd been up so high. Since she was a young girl really, first learning to fly and testing her limits. It was never something she'd been compelled to do. It was too risky and no use in it. Doing things just because they could be done was the domain of Gryffindors and Ravenclaws, not Hufflepuffs like herself. 

Still, she was glad for the opportunity to experience it once again. However odiously it had come about. 

When Horace Slughorn had approached her for her assistance, some deep-seated, uncharitable voice within her had wanted to turn him down flat. Especially when he'd managed to insult her immediately. 

“Rolanda!” he'd said jovially as soon as she entered the staff room one warm fall afternoon, an unusual occurrence considering that she didn't keep residence in the castle or teach any indoor classes. He’d strode quickly over to her and extended a hand in greeting. “I've been hoping I might catch you for weeks now. I've a project for the school, we've almost no Essence of Dittany in the potion stores, who knows what Severus has been doing with it. . .” 

He had seemed to wait for some input from her but Rolanda hadn’t made any guesses; Severus kept to himself and she suspected he had his reasons for it.

“I remembered a large patch of the plant in the Forbidden Forest from my previous time here at the school,” He'd continued after a moment of awkward silence “but dittany is best picked during a very brief window of celestial interaction. When Neptune and our moon are in very precise alignment with Mars. That alignment is to occur roughly a week from now and I won't get another chance at picking it full strength until the spring. Unfortunately, I won't be able to monitor the most optimum alignment from the ground near the plants as heavy cloud cover is predicted for the entirety of that week—” 

“Horace,” she'd finally interrupted, wishing she hadn't bothered to come looking for Minnie to have her dole out punishment to the Gryffindor team for their boorish behavior on the pitch during tryouts. “I think there's a question in there but I can't quite pick it out.” 

“Yes, of course,” he’d said apologetically, gesturing at her wind-tossed flying robes with a brief sweep of his hand. “Being the flying instructor I thought that you might have the equipment to pop above the cloud bank for me to monitor the astronomical coordinates so that I can pick during the most effective window. If you're hesitant I can sweeten the pot for you. I've got easy access to Harpies tickets. . .” 

A flare of righteous indignation had sparked beneath her breastbone at the offer. She was fair. She was hardworking. How dare he assume that she'd need to be bribed?

“Keep your tickets, Horace,” she’d bit out, not bothering to hide her annoyance. “Of course I will help you. I'd rather not have students bleeding out because we couldn't knit them back together fast enough, especially since most of those injuries happen on my pitch.”

“Well,” he had said, the cheer in his voice sounding vaguely strained as he’d executed a quick downwards circle of his wand and whispered, “ _ Papyscribe _ ,” to conjure a slip of parchment. “Here are the details and I will meet you at the forest's edge the night of.” 

They hadn't spoken since, excepting the small talk he'd attempted before they apparated to the clearing, her hand barely touching his palm as she side-alonged. Rolanda hadn't been amenable to his chatting. Nearly as soon as they arrived in the clearing, the floor densely packed with the frosted green trailing stems of dittany, she mounted her broom and kicked off, promising to send down sparks as soon as the moon had risen to the optimum alignment with the two planets. 

Her simmering anger had exploded as she kicked off, fueling her to speed up into the night sky. She'd spun her broom into a tight spiral, relishing the whipping of the wind through her hair as she approached cloud cover and bracing as the Bubble-Head charm activated on her high altitude omnicular goggles, trapping in the droplets of condensation that had formed in her hair. Racing through the air, the distasteful feelings of annoyance and offense dwindled until she finally broke through the dense grey mist. 

It was truly beautiful. The stars were brighter than they ever could be on the ground, unburdened by the haze in the lower atmosphere and the competing brightness of human settlement. In the bright light of the almost full moon, with clear air all around, her thoughts settled and Rolanda could acknowledge where her anger truly came from. 

She didn't like Horace Slughorn. 

Merlin knew that Severus was bad enough as a professor. He was dismissive at best and cruel at worst, but in her mind Horace was much worse. If Severus favored his own house she couldn't really blame him; Rolanda often found herself feeling more fond towards the Hufflepuffs herself. Horace's favoritism went far beyond the norm. It wasn't simple fondness, or even house loyalty, as that criteria seemed to hold no weight in his selection. 

His tastes ran to talent and family connection and excluded everyone else. He didn't care for hard workers or for kindness or even for fairness. He collected the powerful and manipulated those he found useful. 

It was clear which category he put Rolanda in, and while she'd rather be useful than powerful any day, she didn't like being manipulated. 

She focused on the work at hand, tracking the moon as it made its way across the sky and zooming in through her goggles, finding the bright, warm orb that was Mars and beyond that, the dim, hazy outline that was Neptune, barely detectable even with the aid of her ominicular lenses. It took some time before the planets and the moon formed a line, signaling the optimum time to pick the medicinal herbs. As soon as the edge of the luminous satellite entered the small window of influence, she sent the same powerful jet of green sparks through the clouds that she used as a flare in case of accidents during long solo flights. 

Once she had given her signal, she allowed herself to linger for a few moments more in the lofty, crisp air. She gazed out across the endless fields of cumulonimbus to the hazy, curving line of light at the edge of her vision where the atmosphere bent to conform to the shape of the earth, a testament of the limits of perspective. 

The return trip to the ground went by faster, as it always did. The only moment of note was the rush of wind on her face and hands as her gear released her from it's protective grip. 

As she landed in the clearing, Rolanda could see Horace was hard at work, moving faster than she would have expected he was capable of. He had conjured a hovering cushion to support his knees as he worked, kneeling among the plants and using his wand to occasionally scoot the padding towards the next bank of plants. He had already managed to collect a reasonably sized patch, leaving behind a square of bare earth that he'd covered with a picnic blanket bearing a late night feast. On closer inspection, she could see it was more than just a feast. It was mostly plates of her favorite foods. Fresh, steaming piles of chips, Mantoo dumplings, a bottle of firewhiskey next to two tumblers, and a narrow vase bearing dozens of licorice wands. The only unfamiliar dish was a platter of bright yellow rings crusted over with sugar that she couldn't quite place. A few candles lit the picnic and the surrounding clearing with a dim, flickering light. 

“Ah, good, you’re back!” Horace exclaimed as he noticed her looking down at the little banquet he'd laid out, rising up to come over and pick up a piece off the crystalline mystery platter. “I've put out a little treat — I asked the elves what they thought you liked so I hope you enjoy it! I included my favorite as well, crystallized pineapple. Forgive me for not joining you, but I fear I won't be able to really stop until the window of opportunity passes. I only have an hour and dittany responds better to handpicking.” 

“What is this?” Rolanda asked as Horace returned to his position kneeling on the levitating cushion, breaking off a piece of the candied pineapple and carefully storing the rest in a handkerchief in the breast pocket of his robes. 

He turned back towards her, a look of confusion on his face, and stared for a few minutes, seemingly incapable of deciphering what she was asking until she gestured down at the picnic. 

“It's a thank you, Rolanda,” he replied, turning back to his work, gently stripping the bundles of leaves with a single long pull of his fingers up the central stem of a plant. “You wouldn't bargain with me, but that doesn't mean I'm not thankful for your help. I got you out in the middle of the night and took advantage of your professional skills. I'm not going to just send you back to bed empty-handed.” 

“You could have,” she admitted. It was true; she had said she would do it and she hadn't expected anything in return. 

“Not without being indebted to you.” Horace sighed, suddenly looking much older as he worked, his balding head shimmering with sweat. “I don't like owing debts. I prefer to collect them. That's the better end of the stick by far. Besides, I believe in paying people what they are worth. Even if they insist on undervaluing themselves.” 

Rolanda watched Horace work. He moved comfortably among the plants, not missing a single leaf as he gathered, occasionally stopping to pop another small piece of the pineapple candy into his mouth as a treat for his efforts. He was sweating, and the hazy candlelight highlighted it as it worked down his nose from his brow and splattered on the back of his hand. He chatted at her as he worked and she was dimly aware that he was talking Quidditch, professing his interest in the talent of Miss Weasley. As she watched him work, she felt a shift in her perspective, as definable as the swelling awe in her chest as she looked into the inky night sky, or at the curving line of the earth when she'd hovered loftily above the clouds. 

“Ginny Weasley is going places,” she remarked, finally sitting down to the picnic and pouring herself a generous serving of firewhiskey. “but Cho Chang is the better team player. I think they'd both be served well by switching positions. Put Cho in as a Chaser and I think she's headed for the Welsh national team, maybe even as Captain. She'd take them to the World Cup if they can ever find themselves a halfway decent Keeper.” 

Their conversation continued in much the same vein as he worked and she indulged in the feast. The firewhiskey eased her remaining tension and combined with the odd magic unique to the wee hours of the morning to leave her feeling young beyond her years. 

"You know, Rolanda," Horace said as he finally finished his picking and settled down at the picnic with her, his eyes agleam with a good-natured, conspiratorial fire. "If you're so sure of Miss Chang's potential, I really do have Gwenog Jones's ear. If you were to accompany me to a Harpies match we might be able to convince her to give her an early tryout. The second string slots go quickly you know, and she'll need a foot in the door." 

Rolanda could see it was more than a kind gesture. Finding new talent for the team would help him keep his standing with the captain. It was a good move for him, but sat out underneath the stars and full of chips and liquor she didn't feel manipulated. She felt in on the plot. 

After all, it wasn't as if she didn't believe in Cho, and if she played well enough it would leave the door open for Ginny Weasley and countless other witches coming up through the years and looking for an in. 

"I think I will take you up on that, Horace. Just let me drill her as a Chaser first," she drawled, feeling a satisfied smile creep over her face.


End file.
